They called him their hero, their savior, the conqueror of He-Who-Must-not-Be-Named. They looked at him in awe, in respect, in wonder. They whispered about him in the hall, exchanging rumors, commenting on his scar. They looked to him to protect them, as he had his first, second, and every other year up to his sixth. They murmured that he'd stop You-Know Who. He was the Boy-Who-Lived.
They called him a traitor, a liar, a Death Eater in Gryffindor clothing. They looked at him in disgust, in fear, with betrayal in their eyes. They whispered about him in class, calling him whatever the Daily Prophet said he was, saying that he must have deceived them all along. They looked to him as if he was about to pull out his wand and start screaming Unforgivables, as they had when they'd found out he was a Parselmouth, and whenever it appeared that he'd done something dark or underhanded. They murmured that he'd joined You-Know Who. He was the Boy-Who-Lied.
They called to him for help, for mercy, begged him to save them when the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort took the war to Hogwarts. They looked around for him, hoping that he was going to step forward and duel He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Then he stepped forward and pulled off the mask that had become so familiar…both of them.
They looked at him first in shock, then pleadingly, hoping they wouldn't be killed, waiting for him to shout "Surprise!" and turn on the ones he stood with. They called out that he had to kill the Dark Lord; they wailed that this had to be a joke. They screamed out in anguish as the Death Eaters tortured them and he did nothing. They cried out to him, hoping that their savior would rescue them.
They were tossed into the dungeons of Lord Voldemort's home and left to wait in fear. They wondered if they would be the next to die. They wondered why their savior had turned. Their eyes lit with hope when he approached the cells, which died when he did nothing more than stare at them with vague curiosity. One by one, the Death Eaters filed in, to watch as their victory was assured.
And he stood back and watched, not moving even as Lord Voldemort strode into the room, crimson eyes alight with triumph. He smiled as they were tortured, raped, and killed, one by one. He did not move to help them, for he was not the Boy-Who-Lived. He was not their savior. He was not the conqueror of Lord Voldemort.
As cool lips pressed to his neck and he leaned back into the embrace of his lover, he saw Dumbledore's eyes widen in disbelief. And he smiled. Yes – he truly wasn't the old man's pawn anymore. He wasn't a tool, to be used, broken, and thrown aside. He wasn't a weapon to be honed for killing and then set loose. He wasn't Harry Potter any longer.
He was the Dark Lord's beloved Jackal. He was the assassin known as Phantom who had killed off so many Order members. He was loved. He was wanted. He was important.
As the green light rushed toward Dumbledore, and Voldemort turned his head to give him a searing kiss, he tacked one more addition onto the list of things he was.
He was victorious.
Um...what can I say? I got bored and...this happened. XD
Wow...note to self: Boredom and iced tea make for random and unexpected things.
Well, I like it. Do you like it?